Saints & Sacred

Although not as well known in modern times as some other saints who have come after him, Polycarp was nonetheless a major figure in the Church of the second century A.D. Born just 36 years after the death of Jesus, Polycarp’s leadership as the Bishop of Smyrna and his courage under persecution proved both inspiring and vital to the fledgling faith communities of Asia Minor.

What little information we have on his early life seems to indicate that he was a friend of St. John the Apostle, who it is believed converted Polycarp to the Christian faith; thus he was only one step removed from having known Christ Himself. He is also closely connected to at least two other influential saints of the period — St. Ignatius of Antioch, who was an early bishop and martyr, and St. Irenaeus of Lyon, a theologian who successfully refuted the Gnostic heresy, which Polycarp also fought against.

Like St. John, Polycarp lived a long and fruitful life. A prolific letter writer, only one of his epistles, written to the Church at Philippi, has survived. In it he emphasized both adherence to the true doctrines of the Church and an exhortation to holiness by “word and example.” The letter is also interesting to scholars in as much as it contains quotes from the New Testament, indicating that many of its passages were already in existence and that Polycarp was familiar with them.

As Bishop of Smyrna, he was chosen by the Church in Asia Minor to represent them in discussions with Pope Anicetus concerning the proper date of the Easter celebration; this was a serious ecclesiastical dispute at the time and the date observed in Asia differed from that observed in Rome. Though the two men did not settle definitively on a single date, they did agree to honor each other’s and parted in peace.

The account of Polycarp’s martyrdom in 155 is the earliest, fully preserved and reliable account of the death of an early Christian martyr in existence. At the age of 86, during the reign of the Emperor Aurelius Caesar, Polycarp was rounded up by Roman soldiers and brought to the stadium at Smyrna to be burned alive. Due to his advanced age, the official in charge tried to get Polycarp to deny his faith and thus save his life. This the saint refused to do; instead, he declared, “Eighty-six years I have served Him, and He never did me any wrong. How can I now blaspheme my king and God?”

Eyewitnesses then reported that, although a fire was lit at the feet of the saint, it miraculously arced up around him; the flames did him no harm. Ultimately, he was killed with a dagger and his body was ordered to be burned so that there would be nothing left for the Christian faithful to revere.

Acknowledged as a saint due to his holiness and his martyrdom, St. Polycarp’s feast day is Feb. 23. He is the patron saint of those suffering from earaches.

We often think of saints as being spiritual “superheroes,” set apart from the rest of humanity and endowed with holiness and faith beyond the grasp of ordinary individuals.

St. Francis de Sales, however, would be the first to assure us that this is simply not so; having weathered his own spiritual crisis, he went on to become a gentle and reassuring saint who encouraged and celebrated the sanctity of both the ordained and the laity in all walks of life.

Francis was born in 1567 to an old, aristocratic family in the province of Savoy, France. The eldest of six brothers (there were 12 children in the family), it was assumed that he would follow his father into the law and eventually also take his place as the senator from Savoy. To that end, he was sent to study first in Paris and later at Padua, Italy, where he eventually earned his doctorate.

It was while he was studying in Paris that Francis experienced a severe spiritual crisis. He had come to believe in the notion of predestination and was so terrified of being automatically condemned to hell that he became physically ill. It was not until he was at prayer in the Church of St. Stephen that his crisis was suddenly lifted. It was then that he consecrated himself to the Blessed Virgin and decided to become a priest.

Upon his return to Savoy, things seemed at first to be falling into line with his father’s plans; there had even been an advantageous marriage arranged for Francis, so it came as a great surprise to the elder de Sales when his son announced that he had decided to pursue an ecclesiastical life instead. A sharp dispute arose between the two, but Francis, by dint of his gentle and persuasive nature, eventually convinced his father to allow him to follow his religious calling.

For Francis, a large part of that calling would be taken up with both preaching and writing. After his ordination, he was sent to Geneva, Switzerland, which at the time was a center of Calvinism. His great gift for writing and his gentle character won many converts; as he was fond of saying, “A spoonful of honey attracts more flies than a barrelful of vinegar.”

At the age of 35, Francis was appointed bishop of Geneva and, in addition to his administrative duties he continued to exercise his pastoral care of the people. He also continued to write; his two best-known books were “Introduction to the Devout Life” and “A Treatise on the Love of God.”

In his later years, Francis collaborated with another saint, Jane Frances de Chantal, to establish a new religious order, the Sisters of the Visitation.

Francis died in 1622 of natural causes. He was canonized in 1665 and declared a Doctor of the Church in 1887. Because of the tremendous influence of his writing, he was also declared the patron saint of both the Catholic press and Catholic writers in 1923.

There’s an old jewelry box at my house; it’s tucked away in the bottom drawer of my dresser, and it’s full of rosaries. Almost all of them have some sort of story attached to them, which is one of the reasons they are still with me – that and the fact that just about all of them have been blessed. They form a kind of spiritual anchor for me, and every once in a while I take them out and look at them, running my fingers over the different styles of beads and crucifixes, remembering who they came from or in what circumstances they came my way.

One of my earliest encounters with the rosary happened when I was four years old, and I’m sorry to say that it was less than devout. My mother, and many of the other women in the parish, belonged to the Legion of Mary; among other things, they used to do a “block rosary” once a week. This meant that each member took a turn hosting the prayer at her house. I’m sure that coffee and dessert were also involved, but what sticks in my memory isn’t the food but rather that circle of women, all kneeling on someone’s living room rug, reciting the rosary together.

One of the weeks when the gathering was at our house, I was allowed to stay up way past my bedtime and pray with the ladies. This may have been a lapse of judgment on my mother’s part, because before the first decade was concluded, I decided it would be great fun to fall over sideways on the carpet. It was, in fact, so amusing that I did it a few more times before I finally stayed down for the count and fell sound asleep. Needless to say, I was tucked into bed long before the coffeecake was served.

Thankfully, as I grew older, my appreciation and respect for the rosary also grew. When my CCD classmates and I made our First Communion, for instance, one of the gifts each of us received was a rosary, and one of the things that made it special was what it was made of. Rather than crystal or wood or something like that, these beads were white and glowed in the dark. That might not seem like a very big thing, except when you are seven and monsters have visited you in your dreams; then you could always find your rosary, glowing gently on the nightstand next to the bed. Many nights Mary lulled me back to peaceful sleep as I clutched the beads that protected me from things that went bump in the night.

I went through the rosary box recently, and it was like a visit with old friends. But mostly it was a reminder of how protected and loved I am. Life, on occasion, presents different “monsters” to me now, but praying the rosary reminds me that, no matter what happens, Jesus and Mary are never far away.

Originally published in the Summer 2017 issue of Vermont Catholic magazine.

Albertus Magnus, or St. Albert the Great, is the patron saint of scientists and philosophers. However, it might also be appropriate to dub him the “patron saint of the curious,” for he was known to pursue truth and wisdom wherever it could be found, even in places that might have appeared unconventional at the time in which he lived.

Albert was born in southern Germany about the year 1200, the son of a powerful and wealthy military nobleman. He came of age at a time when the Catholic Church had reached the zenith of its power and influence in the Middle Ages; not only was the papacy firmly in control of things both spiritual and temporal, but literature had produced such master works of Christian allegorical poetry as Dante’s “Divine Comedy.” The renewal of the Church (following the previous century’s controversy surrounding lay investiture) also inspired the founding of mendicant religious orders such as the Franciscans and the Dominicans.

Albert was an extremely well educated young man; at the University of Padua, he first encountered the writings of Aristotle, the study of which would greatly influence the intellectual trajectory of the rest of his life. About the year 1223, Albert apparently had an encounter with the Blessed Virgin, which inspired him, much against the wishes of his family, to enter the novitiate of the Dominican Order. From that point on, he took up the study of theology, first in Cologne and later in Paris.

As he had at Padua, Albert proved himself an excellent student. He soon became a lecturer for the order, and by 1245 became a master of theology. He taught at the University of Paris and was appointed chair of yheology at the College of St. James. As famous as Albert was becoming, he would also become known for one of his more brilliant students – Thomas Aquinas, who, like his teacher, would go on to become both a saint and a Doctor of the Church.

Albert’s familiarity with the philosophy of Aristotle would pave the way for his protégé’s own studies. In 1248, the two of them returned to the city of Cologne, where they created a Dominican course of study that would include a curriculum for philosophy. So successful and influential was their work that it would survive to the present day as the Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas, also known as the “Angelicum” in Rome.

Albert’s intellectual interests did not stop there, however. He would become known for his extensive study of natural science, logic, rhetoric, mathematics, astronomy, ethics, economics, politics and metaphysics. It took him 20 years and eight volumes of writing to complete his explanation of his learning; so great was his erudition that, in his time, his work was considered to be on a par with that of Aristotle.

Albert’s health began to fail in 1278, and he died on Nov. 15, 1280. Beatified in 1622, he was canonized and declared a Doctor of the Church in 1931 by Pope Pius IX. His feast day is Nov. 15.

Known in later years as the “absent Father of Vatican II,” Cardinal John Henry Newman was one of the most profound thinkers and writers of Catholic theology in the 19th century. His long life – he lived to be nearly 90 – was almost exactly divided between his early years as an Anglican and his final ones as a Roman Catholic.

John Henry Newman was born in London in 1801, the eldest of six children. Even as a youth, he was absorbed in a quest for religious truth and, following years of study at Oriel College at Oxford University, he was ordained as a priest in the Anglican Church in 1824. From 1828 until 1841 he was vicar of the university church, St. Mary the Virgin, and his writing, published in eight volumes as “Parochial and Plain Sermons,” was a great influence on the religious life both there and throughout the country.

In 1833, he became very ill and, while spending time in the Mediterranean for his health, he composed what became one of his most famous poems, “Lead, Kindly Light.” He had also begun reading the Fathers of the early Church; their influence led to him becoming a prominent leader in the Oxford Movement, whose members questioned certain aspects of Anglicanism, both political and theological. As he became more and more concerned about the orthodoxy of the Anglican faith, he found himself moving in the direction of Roman Catholicism. By 1841, he felt he could no longer function as vicar of St. Mary’s; he resigned his position and spent the next four years in prayer and seclusion. In 1845, he was received into full communion with the Catholic Church, and in 1847 he was ordained a Roman Catholic priest.

These moves did not come without personal cost. Many of his former friends, colleagues and even family members ostracized him. In spite of this, he joined the Congregation of the Oratory, which was begun by St. Philip Neri in 1575; Father Newman went on to found two more oratories and eventually became the rector of the Catholic University of Ireland. A prolific writer, he was the author of 40 books, and nearly 21,000 of his letters still survive.

Pope Leo XIII named John Newman a cardinal in 1879; he died 11 years later in 1890. n 1893, three years after his death, the first Newman Center was founded on the campus of the University of Pennsylvania and, to this day, his name is linked to Catholic student centers at colleges and universities throughout the United States.

Perhaps one of his greatest contributions to an understanding of Catholic theology concerned the primacy of conscience and the role of the laity in the Church. Though viewed with some suspicion in his own time, his teaching had a profound influence on the shaping of the documents of Vatican II. Beatified by Pope Benedict XVI in 2010, Cardinal Newman’s feast day is celebrated on Oct. 9.

Most people know St. Lawrence’s name, if for no other reason than so many things around us are named for him. This saint, however, made a profound impression in the early Church, and his courage inspires us to this day.

We know very little of Lawrence’s early life; by the time he was mentioned in Church history, he was already one of the seven deacons of Rome under Pope Sixtus II. To be so publicly identified with the Church took great courage because this was the period of great persecution ordered by Emperor Valerian. In August of 258, it was decreed that all Christian clergy, from highest to lowest, were to be hunted down and put to death. Consequently, the pontificate of Sixtus was extremely brief, lasting only from 257 until 258, for not only the pope, but all seven deacons would suffer martyrdom.

Of all of them, Lawrence was killed last. According to tradition, when Pope Sixtus and six other deacons were arrested and put in prison to await execution, the pontiff assured Lawrence that he would not be left behind, but would join the others “in four days’ time.” It was a mark of his holiness and bravery that Lawrence saw this as an opportunity, not to flee, but to take care of his final responsibilities.

As a deacon, one of his primary duties was the distribution of alms to the poor and needy. As such, he was also in charge of much of the material wealth of the Church. Knowing that his time was short, and having been ordered by the emperor to turn over all the treasure the Church possessed, Lawrence took immediate action. What little money he had he gave to Rome’s most destitute; he also went a step further and sold the sacred vessels of the Church, giving that money to the poor as well.

At the time appointed by the prefect of Rome, St. Lawrence appeared before him and, as ordered, brought with him the “treasures” of the Church. Surrounding him were a great number of the blind, lame and maimed from the poorest parts of city; in the group were also orphans, widows and lepers, all of whom had been aided by the deacon and the Church. To the prefect’s horror, St. Lawrence presented all of them to him, declaring quite simply, “These are the treasures of the Church.”

The prefect was so enraged at Lawrence’s audacity that he ordered him killed at once, but in a manner most painful and gruesome. He prepared a gridiron with hot coals beneath; on this, Lawrence was placed in order that he might slowly roast to death. Even to the end, Lawrence maintained not only his courage but, miraculously, his humor. It is said that after suffering for some time he quipped to his executioners, “Turn me over. I’m done on this side.”

It is because of this that St. Lawrence is patron, not only of the poor, but of cooks as well. His feast day is August 10.

Mary Magdalene, who is the patron saint of penitents, could also be called the patron saint of mistaken identity. Western tradition has long held that she was a prostitute or an adulteress, but her actual story, according to modern Catholic scripture scholars, is probably less lurid than popular belief. In fact, other than the Virgin Mary herself, Mary Magdalene is one of the most honored female saints of the New Testament.

She appears definitively in the Gospel of Luke 8:2 as one of the Galilean women who, along with the apostles, is listed as a follower of Jesus. Here she is identified as one “from whom seven demons have gone out.” Whether this indicated that she was in the throes of extreme demonic possession or severe illness, the fact remains that her healing inspired her to become an ardent disciple of the Savior, and one of those who “provided for [the apostles] out of their resources” (Luke 8:3).

Confusion enters in when another unnamed woman appears in the same Gospel. Immediately before the Magdalene is identified as a follower of Jesus in chapter eight, there is a story in chapter seven in which a sinful woman – believed to have been a prostitute – enters the house of Simon, where Jesus is a guest, in order to wash His feet with her tears and dry them with her hair. The juxtaposition of these two stories has created the perception that the two women were one and the same, and that Mary Magdalene was not merely a sinner, but a particularly immoral woman. Modern scripture scholars have concluded that there is really no basis to conflate the two, even though Western tradition has been putting them together for more than two millennia.

Actually, it is what happened afterward that led to Mary Magdalene being called the “Apostle to the Apostles.” Near the end of all four Gospels, when Jesus is crucified, it is very clear that, with the exception of John, none of His male companions were present at Golgotha; the only ones who stayed with Him throughout His ordeal were the women who had always accompanied Him. Although the names of the other women change from evangelist to evangelist, Mary Magdalene’s is mentioned specifically and consistently.

Even more telling is the fact that, in each Gospel, it is Mary Magdalene who is the first witness of the resurrection. Of all those who could have been given that privilege, it was granted to her; because of the male-dominated culture of the time, scripture scholars note that no Gospel writer would have placed her in such an honored position unless the story was incontrovertibly true.

Little is known of Mary Magdalene after the resurrection; tradition has her journeying to Ephesus to live out her life in the company of the Virgin Mary. Whatever happened, it was her witness to and extravagant love for Jesus for which we honor her now.

Anyone who knew Romuald as a youth might have been surprised at what he would eventually become; like many of us, however, the good impulses of his heart needed time – and, in the case of Romuald, a significant nudge – to come to full fruition.

Romuald was born into Italian nobility in the city of Ravenna around the year 950. Like many young men who were raised in the faith, Romuald desired holiness, but the allure of the world was too much to overcome. His actions and lifestyle were wild to say the least, but they came to an abrupt and unexpected end when he was about 20 years old.

It was then that his father, Sergius, obliged him to be his second in a duel. To make matters worse, the person with whom his father was dueling was a relative, and their dispute was over property. When Romuald witnessed his father kill the other man, he was so horrified that he fled to the monastery of St. Apollinare, which was near his home. Though initially intending to stay there for 40 days to atone for his father’s sin, he ended up remaining three years, becoming a Benedictine monk.

Romuald soon developed a reputation for extreme holiness, which made his fellow monks uncomfortable. He was eased out of his place at St. Apollinare and spent the next 30 years wandering around Italy, founding hermitages and monasteries wherever he went. In every place, he sought a life of severe penance and continual prayer.

At one point, Romuald also greatly desired to be a martyr for the faith; he asked for and was granted permission by the pope to preach in Hungary, but every time he attempted to do so, he was struck with a severe illness that prevented him from proceeding. It became apparent that God had other plans for him.

That did not mean that Romuald’s life became easy. At one monastery, for instance, he was falsely accused of causing grave scandal, which resulted not only in severe penance but a brief period of excommunication. He also suffered a prolonged period of spiritual dryness, which was eventually relieved by the words of Psalm 31: “I will give you understanding and I will instruct you.” The spirit he received that day never left him.

But the act for which Romuald is most remembered occurred at Camaldoli, in Tuscany. Here, around the year 1012, he established the Order of the Camaldolese Benedictines, which united both a monastic, or community, way of life with the eremitical, or solitary, way.

According to legend, a man named Maldolus had had a vision of monks dressed in white, ascending into heaven; acting on this vision, he gave Romuald the land on which was built the first motherhouse of the Camaldolese Order. To this day, Camaldolese monks live lives of austerity and prayer in the spirit of their founder.

St. Romuald died alone in his cell, as he predicted, in 1027; his feast day is June 19.

It is never easy being the pope, but occupying the chair of Peter when the Church itself is trying to recover from great turmoil demands a person of constant prayer, deep humility and great holiness. Thankfully, Pope St. Pius V possessed all those qualities, for he had the enormous responsibility of implementing the sweeping changes that accompanied the Council of Trent in the mid-16th Century.

Born in Italy in 1504 to poor parents, Antonio Ghislieri, as he was then known, spent his youth working as a shepherd; he later joined the Dominican Order and was ordained a priest in 1528. For the next 16 years, he taught theology and philosophy in various Dominican houses.

During that time, however, the wider Church was in the midst of great upheaval. Martin Luther had nailed his Ninety-Five Theses to the door of the Wittenberg chapel in 1517, thus inaugurating the Protestant Reformation. The Roman Catholic Church, which actually had been in need of reform, now found itself having to confront the issue head-on in the face of both resistance from within and challenges from without.

When Pope Paul III opened the Council of Trent in 1545, organized, concrete reform could finally begin. For 18 years the Church wrestled with questions of renewal; finally, after much discussion and debate, the Council agreed on a plan of action and came to a formal end in 1563. Now it was up to someone to actually implement these extensive changes.

When Antonio Ghislieri, now Pius V, was elected pope in 1566, he brought with him a personal history of piety, personal austerity and zealous opposition to any form of heresy. He had been appointed inquisitor of the faith in Como and Bergamo, Italy, in 1551 and later, Pope Julius III named him commissary general of the Inquisition. His reputation for zealousness put him at odds for a time with his predecessor, Pope Pius IV, but it turned out that he would need every ounce of that strength of spirit to carry out the will of the Council of Trent.

One of the first things he did was to establish seminaries for the proper and thorough training of priests. Under his direction, a new missal, a revised breviary and a new catechism were promulgated. He enforced legislation against abuses in the Church. And despite his responsibilities as pope, he continued to serve the poor and sick, giving the money that had been used for papal banquets to feed the destitute instead.

In addition to encountering disagreements within his own Church, Pius V also had to contend with strong opposition from such heads of state as Queen Elizabeth I of England and Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II. The threat of a Turkish invasion was also never far from his thoughts and he was working toward a Christian European alliance to deal with this issue when he died in 1572.

Pius V’s feast day is April 30; he is the patron of Bosco Marengo, Italy.

Although the Christian faith had been introduced in the British Isles prior to his arrival in 596, it is St. Augustine of Canterbury who is known as the “Apostle of England.” This extraordinarily human saint, whose missionary activity turned out to be surprisingly modern, established, in a mere eight years, a Christian presence in that island nation that persists to the present day.

This does not mean, however, that Augustine met with no difficulties. A monk and abbot of St. Andrew’s Abbey in Rome, he likely thought – as did many of his contemporaries – that he would live out his days quietly in that position. However, Pope St. Gregory I, who had founded the abbey, had different ideas; he called upon Augustine and 40 of his monks to leave Italy in order to evangelize the Christians of “Angle-land” and to convert the pagans they encountered there.

The group had gotten as far as Gaul (present-day France) when tales of the savagery of the Anglo-Saxons and the dangers of crossing the English Channel frightened them enough to cause them to return to Rome. There, Gregory assured Augustine that he and his monks would not meet with the dire consequences they had heard about, and so they were sent off on their journey once more.

This time, they arrived in England and landed at Kent, which was then under the rule of King Ethelbert. Although the king was a pagan, his wife, Bertha, was a Christian, and so the missionaries were greeted with kindness rather than cruelty; the king allowed them to settle in and preach the faith from Canterbury. Within the year, Ethelbert had converted but, unlike many other kings of his time, did not require his subjects to do so unless they wished to.

Following the advice of Pope Gregory, Augustine’s method of conversion did not set out to destroy pagan culture, but to build on it. Rather than raze the temples dedicated to other gods, for instance, he “converted” them to the worship of Christ. Pagan festivals were transformed into Christian feasts and, wherever possible, Augustine retained the local traditions of the people. Apparently these actions, coupled with the example of the king, were enough to convince many Anglo-Saxons that they, too, should be baptized. As the faith spread, Augustine built a church and a monastery near where the present-day Canterbury cathedral still stands, and soon established sees in London and Rochester.

Although he was somewhat successful with the pagans he encountered, Augustine did not fare as well with evangelizing Briton Christians, who had been driven into western England when the Anglo-Saxons had invaded nearly 150 years earlier. Separated as they had been from Rome, many of the practices Briton Christians had evolved during that period were now at variance with the wider Church. This, combined with their lingering bitterness toward the Anglo-Saxons, made it nearly impossible for Augustine to convince them to change.

Augustine died in 605; the patron of England, his feast day is May 27.

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In 11th-Century Spain, if the king demanded something, he generally got it. Not so in the case of one Benedictine monk, however.

Saint Dominic of Silos stood his ground and, although he lost one monastery, he gained another, greater one instead.

Born in about the year 1000 to a peasant family in Navarre, Spain, Dominic spent his early years as a shepherd, cultivating a love of solitude and prayer. In adulthood, he entered the Benedictine order, was ordained a priest and became abbot of the monastery at San Millan de la Cogolla. When a dispute over monastery lands arose, the king of Navarre ordered the Benedictines to leave; when Dominic refused, he and two of his monks were forcibly removed and exiled.

They sought refuge in Castile; there they became part of the monastery of San Sebastian at Silos, which was in desperate need of reform. Under Dominic’s leadership, the house was reinvigorated both physically and spiritually and became one of the most famous monasteries in Spain. It was reputed to be a place of healing, due primarily to the holiness associated with Dominic.

One of the most popular secular figures associated with Christmas, Santa Claus, actually began as a very Christian saint – St. Nicholas. Although we have few facts about this Fourth-Century bishop, the many stories which grew up about him, coupled with the widespread devotion people have expressed toward him in many times and cultures, give us a glimpse into the holiness of the man. And the picture it paints is very appealing.

Nicholas was born into a wealthy family during the latter part of the Third Century on what is now the southern coast of Turkey; his parents, devout Christians, died in an epidemic when Nicholas was still a very young man. As a result, he suddenly found himself in possession of a fairly substantial fortune. However, rather than keep his money, he obeyed Jesus’ command to “sell all you have and give it to the poor” and distributed his earthly wealth among the poorest and neediest around him.

Nicholas was ordained a priest and was subsequently made bishop of Myra, a city in Lycia, which was a province of Asia Minor. Sources tell us that he was imprisoned during the Christian persecution, which took place under the Roman Emperor Diocletian but lived to see the legalization of the faith under Constantine. Likely present at the Council of Nicaea in 325, Nicholas died in the city of Myra on Dec. 6, 343.

Nicholas was known during his lifetime for his expansive generosity. One of the most popular stories about him concerned a man who was too poor to provide dowries for his three daughters; at the time, a lack of dowry meant that a woman could not marry, and so it was likely that these girls would end up being sold, either into slavery or prostitution. When Nicholas heard of the situation, he is said to have gone to the house on three separate occasions, each time tossing a bag of gold through the window, thereby providing each daughter with the needed dowry. According to legend, the gold landed in the stockings of the young women, which they had washed and hung over the fireplace to dry – thus beginning the tradition of hanging stockings at Christmas that persists to this day.

Miracles also were attributed to Nicholas after his death. One of the oldest stories tells of a young boy who was kidnapped from Myra by pirates who raided the city during the celebration of the saint’s feast day. A year later, as the child’s grieving mother prayed for his safe return, Nicholas is said to have appeared to the boy where he was being held as a slave, sweeping him up and returning him to his parents.

Another story has Nicholas restoring to life three children who were murdered by a wicked innkeeper. Still another, which reportedly took place during the saint’s lifetime, says that while on a voyage to the Holy Land, the ship on which he was traveling was caught in a terrible storm. The terrified sailors were sure that the ship would be lost and that they would drown, but Nicholas calmly prayed for their safety. Within minutes, the waves were stilled and the storm abated, sparing everyone on board.

While many of these tales are unsubstantiated, their persistence over the centuries nevertheless point to a man who was both generous and holy, a model for those who would also live a compassionate life. There are many who claim him as their patron, among them children, sailors, brides and the country of Greece.

If you ever had an opportunity to attend Catholic school in the United States, you have Elizabeth Ann Seton to thank for it. The first American-born saint, Mother Seton, as she became known, would end up traveling an often painful road, which led from a privileged upbringing in New York to her eventual vocation as a Sister of Charity in Baltimore, Md.

Born Elizabeth Ann Bayley in New York in 1774, she was raised as a staunch Episcopalian by her father, Dr. Richard Bayley. Although the family moved in the highest social circles, Bayley made sure that his daughter learned early the value of love and service to others.

At the age of 19, Elizabeth married a wealthy businessman, William Magee Seton, with whom she was deeply in love. Together they had five children, and she felt, at the time, as if she had everything she could want.

Ten years into their marriage, however, life began to take a different turn. Seton’s business failed, and he contracted tuberculosis. In an attempt to recover his health, the family moved to Italy, where he had business friends. The move, however, saved neither him nor his finances; he died in 1803, leaving his wife an impoverished widow with five children to raise on her own.

While in Italy, however, she came in close contact with Catholicism for the first time through the Filichi family, who took her and her children in. Through their influence, she became deeply devoted to both the Real Presence and the Blessed Mother. When she converted to Catholicism in 1805, the news was not warmly received by many of her strict Episcopalian family and friends.

Although she considered entering a convent in Canada, then-Archbishop John Carroll (whose cousin Charles had been a signer of the Declaration of Independence) convinced her instead to come to the Diocese of Baltimore. There, she founded a school in 1808 to help support herself and her children; though it was a secular institution, it was run along the lines of a religious community. In fact, when news of her Catholicism spread, many of the girls enrolled there were withdrawn by their parents.

As other young women began to join Elizabeth, the archbishop asked her to establish a free Catholic girl’s school in Baltimore, and the parochial school system in America was inaugurated. In 1809, Elizabeth founded the Sisters of Charity to run the schools, and from that point on, she was known as Mother Seton. Archbishop Carroll officially approved the order in 1812.

Both her order and the parochial school system grew. Although she contracted tuberculosis, Mother Seton continued to work with both until her death in 1821.

St. Elizabeth Ann Seton’s feast day is Jan. 4; she is the patron saint of widows and seafarers (two of her sons went to sea), and against loss of parents.

Sources for this article include:

www.americancatholic.org

www.catholiconline.com

“Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton“. CatholicSaints.Info. 30 September 2016.

Schreck, Alan. “Catholic Church History from A to Z”. Ann Arbor, Michigan: Servant Publications, 2002.

Pope St. Clement I occupied the Chair of Peter in the very early years of the Church. Known as one of the Church’s “Apostolic Fathers,” he provided a direct link between the apostles who knew Jesus and the later generations who succeeded them.

The most concrete information we have about him comes from a letter he wrote to the Church in Corinth around the year 96. In it he admonishes a group within the community who were actively trying to split away from the established clergy, to instead seek reconciliation. Like other Apostolic Fathers of the time, he stressed unity over division and understanding over conflict.

“Charity unites us to God…,” he wrote in his First Epistle to the Corinthians. “There is nothing mean in charity, nothing arrogant. Charity knows no schism, does not rebel, does all things in concord. In charity, all the elect of God have been made perfect.”

Clement I died in about the year 100, and his feast day is celebrated Nov. 23.

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